


lex parsimoniae

by ifreet



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, post-cotw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-19
Updated: 2011-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-27 13:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifreet/pseuds/ifreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turnbull is the reigning Chicago champion at Dirty Minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lex parsimoniae

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sam_gamgee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sam_gamgee/gifts).



> Thanks to B for insightful beta and the usual crew for cheerleading.

Renfield heard the front door open-close and sighed. Then he put on his most professional demeanor to greet the visitor. His custards were entering a critical phase -- if they failed to heat properly, they wouldn't set properly, and he hated to step away from them -- but with Constable Fraser having returned from leave early, Renfield couldn't exactly lock up until the custards were finished.

Upon stepping into the foyer, he recognized Detective Vecchio, peering about as if slightly lost. He'd forgotten that the detective hadn't had a chance to see the new consulate before his undercover assignment began. Ren resolved that he should feel every bit as at home here as he obviously had at the prior location. "Welcome to Canada, Detective."

"Turnbull! Hey. Is Benny around?"

"Yes, he's packing up his office." Detective Vecchio looked stricken, and Renfield ran the sentence back through his internal editor. "Sorry. He's packing up some excess personal belongings, because Inspector Thatcher has instructed him to make proper use of his housing stipend."

"He's been living here?"

Renfield nodded. "I believe he's found a wolf-friendly hotel as a temporary solution while he apartment hunts."

"That's ridiculous," Detective Vecchio pronounced and started to storm past Ren only to haul up short. "His office is --"

"Last door on the left." As soon as Detective Vecchio was out of sight, he raced for his custards. Fortunately, the critical temperature had not yet passed. He hovered by the oven, ready to pull them at the right moment.

Detective Vecchio's voice sounded slightly tinny echoing through the ventilation system. "You're coming home with me. No arguments."

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"Are you kidding me? What imposition?"

Constable Fraser's response was inaudible over the creak of the oven door and the slight slosh of the water bath in which the custard cups had been set.

"Benny, come on, you're family."

Renfield set the baking sheet on the range top. They seemed to be setting fine.

***

The curtains around the bed didn't provide privacy so much as remove anything of interest from view, leaving Renfield little to contemplate other than the chain of events that had landed him on the hospital cot. And he'd really rather _not_. The pain in his leg was an ever-present throb, albeit currently muffled by the miracle of modern medicine, and at the moment all he wanted from life was to go home. He hated hospitals. Renfield had explained to the doctor that he'd memorized the El schedule by the end of his first week in Chicago and most of the main bus routes by his first month (it never hurt to be prepared, though apparently memorizing bus schedules was not quite enough to keep him out of their way), but despite describing no fewer than three available routes complete with estimated wait times between transfers, she refused to let him leave on his own.

To make the day's embarrassment complete, the only number he could remember off the top of his painkiller-addled skull was the consulate where Constable Fraser was on shift. Renfield had never aspired to be Constable Fraser's equal, but he hoped that he'd come to be considered a valued subordinate and asset to the consulate. The sigh that had echoed down the line seemed to call that status back into question.

Renfield was eying the crutches leaning against the wall and considering attempting to escape AMA, when a familiar voice came into earshot. "-- because it's emasculating, that's why." He recognized the voice of Detective Vecchio and fought the urge to scrunch down. Slouching did not render one invisible, as his mother was fond of pointing out.

Perhaps it was inevitable that this mishap would end up in the local precinct's rumor mill, known more for its speed than accuracy. But Constable Fraser's recruiting of one of the detectives to help take Ren home guaranteed that this incident would provide grist for the mill. He should have expected it, though. The two had been nearly inseparable since Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski had returned from the north.

"I don't see how, Ray," Constable Fraser replied in a rather starchier voice than usual.

"Of course you wouldn't," Detective Vecchio scoffed. "You've worn a dress."

"That's hardly relevant to the situation." There followed a slight hesitation, noticeable only because Ren was well aware of how very sure Constable Fraser generally was. "Unless you mean to imply I have general excess of femininity which --"

"That's not what--"

"-- as I've said before is nothing to be ashamed of. The exploration of nontraditional gender roles is encouraged in many cultures, including the T'linkot, and -- "

"Benny," he said, forcefully enough to cut Constable Fraser off before the lecture quite started. Renfield was grateful - he really couldn't continue to sit in hospital any longer than necessary. "You're the exception that proves the rule. It doesn't matter what you do, no one bats an eye. It's like a superpower. But some of us have got a reputation to uphold, and --"

"I'm right here. I _can_ hear you," Renfield interrupted, a bit tetchily perhaps, but he was fully prepared to blame the broken leg for any breach in manners, if said poor manners would move matters along.

Perhaps he'd been in Chicago too long.

A beat of silence fell, then Detective Vecchio pushed open the curtain, looking faintly flushed. "Hey, Turnbull, we were just discussing --"

"I really don't care whether if using the wheelchair is an affront to my masculinity, as long as it means I get to leave." Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was shocked at himself -- two interruptions in as many minutes?

"Yeah, that," the detective muttered. "Where'd your nurse get to?"

***

Constable Fraser sat stiffly behind his new desk, looking remarkably uncomfortable over the wide expanse of darkly stained and highly polished maple. Perhaps it was merely another iteration of the discomfort he'd expressed in the new office, having said more than once that his former office was more than adequate to his needs. Renfield suspected that Constable Fraser feared having a good desk would bring an expectation that people be able to find him there.

But given the anticipated arrival of a new Inspector -- and particularly given the national attention following the Russian Sub Incident -- Inspector Thatcher would insist that everything be correct. Including putting her most senior officer in a properly kitted-out and nonresidential office.

The Inspector was, in fact, insisting now, though the specifics had changed. The dignity of the consular service and the pride of the Chicago consulate being at stake, it was vitally important that the caterers be informed of the change in menu for the official welcome fete for the arrival of the Inspector's successor. Renfield wasn't entirely sure how the _hors d'oeuvre_ selection reflected upon the dignity of the service, but he expected it would be made clear eventually. Much like the reason behind Constable Fraser's decision to sit uncomfortably behind his desk rather than stand uncomfortably behind his desk had become clear once Renfield spotted the sole of a nicely tooled shoe not-quite-protruding from underneath the desk.

The Inspector turned on her heel at just that moment, and Renfield quickly wiped any trace of amusement off his face as he snapped to attention as best he could without losing a crutch. He maintained his best impassive look as her piercing gaze swept over him. Apparently satisfied, she left, and Renfield waited for her footsteps to fade before relaxing ever so slightly. The pending arrival of her replacement and her own upcoming transfer had the entire consulate on edge.

"Constable Fraser, Detective Vecchio," he greeted and stumped over. "I have those forms you needed, sir."

Constable Fraser pushed back his chair -- or, given the sudden acceleration, perhaps it was more accurate to say he was pushed aside by the detective. The detective extricated himself from beneath the desk. "This is not what it looks like."

"Oh." Renfield felt obscurely disappointed in the detective. He laid the folder down on the desk, hesitated, then firmed his resolve. "In that case, sir, given the Inspector's prohibition on leaving the building today other than on sanctioned consular business, since Detective Vecchio did not slip in to bring you lunch, might I be so bold as to offer to order lunch in?"

Constable Fraser glanced down, a move that utterly failed to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That won't be necessary, Constable."

Detective Vecchio leaned down and picked up a paper sack going grease-translucent at the corner. Wearing a sheepish expression, he admitted, "Okay, so it's exactly what it looks like."

Constable Fraser gave the detective what could only be termed a fond look, before remembering to say, "Dismissed."

Renfield saluted and turned on his good leg. Once clear of the room, he smiled and began estimating how long he could run interference before the Inspector might begin to suspect that his actions constituted an intentional distraction.

***

Renfield stood by the buzzer, on the wrong side of the building's locked door, and tried not to fret. It wasn't completely unheard of for Constable Fraser to disappear from the consulate in pursuit of a case. On the other hand, he'd left Diefenbaker behind, and it had been the better part of a day, so after some debate he'd decided to try to track him down. The trail had led him to Constable Fraser's newly acquired apartment.

"Fraser's got you worried, too?" The voice startled him; he jumped before he recognized it as Detective Kowalski's. The detective frowned up at the building, as though he could see through walls to Constable Fraser's apartment. "I take it he's not answering."

"No," Renfield replied, even though it wasn't a question.

He nodded, then started pressing every button in sequence from left to right. Most didn't reply, one person asked who it was and responded rather rudely to 'the police.' But a few buttons later, the speaker buzzed, and Detective Kowalski hurried to grab the now-unlocked door. Renfield raised his eyebrows at the lapse in security. Detective Kowalski just shrugged and held the door wide enough for Renfield to negotiate with his crutches. "There's always someone."

They took the elevator up to Constable Fraser's floor. As the elevator creaked upwards, Detective Kowalski glanced at Renfield's cast. "Did you really get hit by your campaign bus?"

He blinked. "Campaign, detective?"

"For public office?"

He frowned. "What public office in Chicago doesn't require U.S. citizenship?"

"I don't know. I'm not the one running for office, am I?"

The elevator shuddered to a stop, and the door slid open. Detective Kowalski shrugged, led the way to Constable Fraser's door, and knocked; when no response seemed forthcoming, Renfield tried the knob. It turned under his hand.

They shared a brief look, then Detective Kowalski pulled his weapon and bulled through the door. "Fraser!"

"In here," came the calm reply, partially overridden by an indignant squawk.

Detective Kowalski stopped dead in the doorway to the bedroom. After a moment, Renfield peeked over his shoulder. Constable Fraser was straddling Detective Vecchio's hips, leaning forward to work at the rope wrapped around the detective's wrists which looked to be a match to the length coiled on the floor. Both men were in their underwear, Detective Vecchio's a bit more... colorful than Constable Fraser's bleach-bright white boxers, and -- Renfield decided the ceiling needed some study.

"This is really, really not what it looks like," Detective Vecchio said.

Detective Kowalski snorted and finally holstered his gun.

Renfield was sufficiently startled by the assertion to forget propriety and resume staring at the half-dressed detective. "If your clothes were not stolen by members of the Society Against Historic Preservation of Ephemera seeking to impersonate a Chicago police officer in order to gain access to the restricted areas of the Chicago History Museum, then what on Earth is going on?"

The final knot gave way under Constable Fraser's hands, and he moved off of Detective Vecchio and frowned at Renfield. He stifled the urge to either fidget or take back his simple (if somewhat demandingly phrased -- he really needed to get out of the city for awhile) request for information. Detective Vecchio sat up and rubbed at his wrists, looking somewhat bemused. "I don't even want to know how you got there, but that's what happened."

Renfield respected Detective Vecchio's request that he not explain -- it was fairly self-evident, after all.

Constable Fraser offered Detective Vecchio a hand, pulling him up from the bed and then giving him an assessing look.

Detective Kowalski cleared his throat. "Okay, you guys find some clothes, and we'll call it in. From the car. Come on, Turnbull." He turned and gave Renfield a companionable push. Once the apartment door had closed behind them, Detective Kowalski looked up at him with an intriguingly asymmetric smile. "You're a trip, you know that, Turnbull?"

Renfield turned that over a few times as they walked down the hallway, then gave in and asked, "Is that a good thing?"

Detective Kowalski leaned his shoulder against the wall beside the elevator doors and still managed an easy shrug. "I think so."

"Then perhaps you should call me by my given name." His cheeks heated a bit, as he immediately realized he was being rather forward. After all, the detective referred to Constable Fraser by his last name, and by all appearances they shared a close relationship.

Detective Kowalski's eyes widened in evident surprise, but just as quickly, his expression turned pleased. "I should, huh? Okay, what is it?"

"It's Renfield." He waited for the inevitable and unfortunate Stoker joke.

The detective smiled. "Call me Ray," he said, as the elevator pinged open. Ray stepped inside, turned and raised an eyebrow. No joke seemed forthcoming.

"Oh," Renfield said to himself and followed.

***

The police station was fairly buzzing with activity. Renfield stepped out of the way of a pair of detectives escorting a struggling theater critic and nervously smoothed his uniform again. Ray had offered to help him prepare his testimony in the upcoming trial of the SAHPE agitators. He assumed that, as they were meeting at the station, Ray had meant exactly what he'd said.

Probably. Ray managed to fit innuendo into the strangest statements.

As he edged past an actor who seemed determined to take issue with the critic being led away, he heard a distinct thump and a sort of skittering-rolling sound. Given the ambient noise, it seemed unlikely anyone else had noticed, so Renfield carefully opened the door to the supply closet to set whatever had fallen to rights before it became a hazard to others.

A box of pens had scattered across the floor. Judging by the celerity with which Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio leapt apart, the spill was the least interesting recent event in the closet.

"It's not what it looks like."

Renfield took in the flushed checks, flustered expressions, and slightly askew clothes, and immediately schooled his face to impassivity. "In that case, sir, I'm afraid I must inform you that rescue breathing is not, in fact, performed mouth to mouth. The rescuer is supposed to blow into the victim's nose. I would have thought you'd have researched the correct technique since your misadventure on the Henry Allen."

Constable Fraser darted a look at Detective Vecchio. "Yes, thank you, Constable, that will be all."

Renfield gave them his blandest look and started to withdraw from the closet, but found he couldn't resist adding, "Detective Kowalski was taken aback as well, sir. Though I suppose it worked well enough in the pinch."

Constable Fraser's eyes narrowed, and he knew there would be a discussion in the future about what Renfield knew or thought he knew. But for now, he slipped out of the closet and waited.

"You and Kowalski?" Detective Vecchio's voice went high and disbelieving.

"I administered actual mouth to mouth, once, while he was drowning. Could we please get back to--?" The words cut off, as something -- someone -- thumped against the door.

Renfield continued on his way to Ray's desk, humming cheerfully to himself.


End file.
